I'm dead because you're mine
by VelvetGoldie
Summary: Wendy Darling thought her first year of college was going to be hell as her literature teacher, James Hook, walked into class. As guilt gets stronger, she fights off her growing and forbidden feelings for the man she used to hate. But for how long can it go on? Sexual tension and plenty of frustration are due. Obviously. [Peter Pan modern AU]
1. Trouble is knocking

_Oh god, it was bad._

Wendy was sitting at the edge of her seat, legs crossed and brows furrowed, desperatly waiting for her first literature class of the year to end. From time to time, she glanced at her wristwatch, as if she could make the time move faster by doing so; it only succeded in making it move slower, oh, so slower. She couldn't prevent her hands from slightly shaking; and even if she was taking notes as fast as she could, she had to wipe them onto her jeans from time to time to prevent them from sweating.

She took a look at the time again. Even if every other room had one, this was the only class without any clock at the wall.

It was the very first thing she noticed as she stepped through the door. This gave her a bad feeling. Her first day of school had gone so well so far; university could be scary to some, but to her, it was already better than high school. Finally, she could be able to muse into as much books as she wanted and she wouldn't be thought of as strange by her colleagues. And she was looking forward to her literature class.

Until she realised the clocks were missing.

Until she saw the man step inside the room.

Of all the teachers in the world, it had to be him. It had to be James Hook; the very same James Hook that she and her childhood friend Peter used to bother every single day in their neighbourhood.

Not a single Halloween went by without the pair of them throwing eggs at his door; not a single Sunday went by without the pair denying him sleep by making every kind of noise possible to wake him up at 6 o' clock in the morning. She chuckled when she thought of these days; until she moved out from the neighbourhood when she was 13, she had had the time of her life, bothering that old codfish, as they used to call him.

Yes, it was fun to think of these days; until she saw the exact same man, unchanged, step into the classroom; her classroom. And he was going to be her teacher for the whole year? Suddenly, Wendy's bright thoughts of college shattered violently upon the floor.

Thankfully, university didn't impose the teachers to call the roll. She was safe... For now. In only half an hour, Wendy had already reviewed in her mind all the moments during which the old codfish – her _teacher_ , now – would finally come to recognize her. Her first test, for instance. He would surely give her an F as soon as he would read her name, without even bothering to read her essay. Irrationnally, she already figured she was never going to pass. What would she tell her mother?

Her literature classes were going to be pure torture. It was only fair, after what she had done to him as a child, she thought. Pure torture, because she would spend the hours hiding and hoping he wouldn't notice her. But there was something else.

Anxiously, she raised up her nose from her frantic notes to take a look at him.

Even if he had been an old codfish to her as a child, he certainly wasn't a codfish to her now. It was understandable by the way every other girls in the room were gawking at him instead of taking notes. This frustrated her slightly. But how could she blame them?

The thing that made her recognize him in the first place – his long black curls – were all tied up in an elegant ponytail, thus revealing two golden earrings at each of his ears. But the eyes that were so cold, somehow frightening long ago; the same eyes were now making an ache grow inside her stomach. She vaguely knew what that ache was for; and she was terrified by it. She certainly wasn't allowed to feel such things.

She ordered her own eyes to lower back down onto her notebook. But how could she distract herself from this ache, when his voice filled the room, when she had to write down every word he said? So all she could do was bite her lip and take a look at the time, hoping to make it move faster.

Yes, this literature class was going to be pure torture.

/

The strident ringing of the bell was the sweetest thing she ever heard. Faster than light, she packed up her notebook and threw her bag on her shoulder, wiping her hands a final time onto her thighs. Trying to look like she didn't have any problem in the world while her head was burning with mantras such as _Don't make any eye contact_ and _Don't look up, look down keep looking down_ , she headed painfully towards the exit. A few seconds streched out to eternity as she passed by the now-dreaded teacher, forgetting to breathe to make her presence even lesser. Another step, and she finally passed through the door and was safe from the blue eyes.

In the distance that she covered between her chair and the door, he didn't look at her once. And she hated herself for feeling disappointed about it.

''How did your first day at college go, Wendy?'' Peter was ever joyous when he was talking to her. She could almost see him skipping through his room at his end of the phone.

''Quite fine! I'm sure you would have loved it, Peter.''

''Me? Loving school? Peh!'' Wendy smiled sadly. Even if she had tried to convince him, she had never been able to make him change his mind about leaving high school. He was now a high-school dropout – and, moreover, proud to be one, enjoying the small jobs he could get here and there.

''So, you got any cool stories from there? Anything crazy?'' Wendy bit on her lip, the haunting blue eyes coming back to her.

''No. Nothing interesting, really.''

/

Now, today was going to be a great day, she thought. It was tuesday. She had looked at her schedule over and over again; she didn't have literature on tuesdays. Confidently, she walked in the halls, heading for the library. She needed some books already; a few classics, a few history books, and such. She would therfore pick the books, and enjoy an afternoon of studying. Studying would keep her mind busy; she desperatly needed it. Wendy had been disturbed since 7 o' clock in the morning; her first thought as she woke up wasn't about the friends she would make, or what she would have for breakfast.

It had been about James Hook. Whether it was because she was still feeling guilty about what she had done to him, or because, much more unsettingly, she actually _wanted_ to see him again, she could not tell.

The halls were labyrinthine. She had almost gotten lost twice; thanks to some people she met down the corridors, she had been able to head in the right direction. But she was getting lost again. Did they say it was the second or the third door on the left? Or was it on the right?

Wendy stopped and sighed. She looked around for some help; she wasn't proud of asking, but she needed to get there before nightfall, wasn't she! Except – no one was to be found. She pulled out her phone, hoping to look for a map online. But she must have gotten in too deep, for there was not a single proof of signal shown on her screen. She almost threw it on the ground out of rage, but finally managed to calm her temper. She would knock on every single door if she had to, but she would find that library, she resolved. Wendy took a determined step towards the second door on the left and opened it vividly, expecting to head into yet another corridor.

She realised that it wasn't going to be a good day after all, as she found herself in the archives room, already occupied by someone. Someone with long black curls.

Wendy's stomach sunk into her, and for half a second she thought her legs would give up. But they didn't; yet, she didn't use them to turn around and flee as she should have. Manners forced her to mutter confused excuses first.

''Sorry to disturb you, I – I was just looking for the library.'' Wendy refrained from keeping her eyes down; there was no use in trying to avoid _him_ now. His amused eyes were scanning her and she already felt shame burn up her cheeks. Before anything else, he took care of her apologies.

''No matter, dear.'' _Oh god, do not call me dear_ , Wendy thought desperatly – ''I could show you the way to the library, if so you wish.''

 _Not in a million years_ – ''That's very kind of you, but no, thank you very much. Sorry again.'' She cursed herself for that reply – so blunt, so unlike her usual interactions with anybody else. But, unfortunately, this was not just anyone. Already she was exiting, fleeing from the blasted room. She hadn't finished to close the door behind her when Hook added something.

''Until next time, Ms. Darling.''

Wendy's blood chilled in her very veins. Pretending that she hadn't heard anything, she closed the door quickly and almost ran out of the halls, postponning her visit to the library to another time.

Yes, this year was definitely going to be bad.

* * *

 _ **Nothing like a school-set story during summer, I say thee! This first chapter is short, and so will be this story. More, much more UST is to come soon, hopefully!**_


	2. A glance is all it takes

It had taken James Hook some time before he noticed the girl.

He usually hated to teach the new students, not quite grown out of their fresh high school ways. A quick glance at the overall of the class confirmed this impression: half of the class was already texting, not even bothering to hide their actions; the other half – mostly the feminine one – wasn't showing the slightest interest in taking notes.

Except one. He had just finished his introduction and had to pause for a second. Looking over the classroom again, the only girl whose studious face was slightly leaned towards the table, absorbed in her notes, caught his eye. At first, he dismissed this interest; it was becoming rare to see a studious first-year student, however it wasn't enough to make him loose track of his lesson.

But during the course of the class, he couldn't help but cast a glance or two at the girl. Something was there; something he couldn't quite put his finger on... When suddenly, he remembered. That special thing at the corner of her lips; he had seen it before. And he knew precisely who it belonged to.

Wendy Darling.

That _darling girl_ , whose name was so sweet but whose manners weren't. How he remembered her and that dreadful brat, Pan, who was at the time her best friend. It lasted for far longer than any man could bear: those trickerish games they played on him. Not that he didn't repay them the favour from time to time either. He didn't remember when or why it started: but it did, and until that girl left the neighbourhood – and Pan, he didn't have a minute of peace. And there she was again; studious, serious, grown.

And how beautifully grown. Maybe this was what had drawn his attention to her in the first place, after all.

But he must go back to his lesson; he surely doesn't have any time to waste on her; that former brat. Yet.

/

Wednesday was going to be her least favourite day of the week from now on, she decided. Not only did she have literature class, but especially today: she was going to have to confront Mr. Hook. Now she knew he remembered her only to well; and she terribly feared what was going to happen to her now, as things surely wouldn't be left unsaid.

A knot in her stomach and a fever already coming up at her head – stinging, she quickly stepped towards her desk past Hook, ignoring him – but feeling his eyes following her, almost burning her back. And so they did during the whole class. Last time, he wasn't watching her; and today – even if she never glanced at him, not even once – she _knew_ he did. And it consumed her so.

At the ringing of the bell, once again, she thought she was free. Until, after a few students faster than her had already left the room, she heard his voice; clear and distinct amongst the low chatter filling the class.

"Ms. Darling. A word, if you please."

Wendy felt the world sink underneath her for a stretching second. But it was nothing, she told herself – except her treacherous body disagreed; weakening her knees, making her hands tremble uncontrollably. She gulped anxiously as she stepped down towards her teacher; dreading what would come next. She noticed on her way a few jealous and angry glances from a few girl students. _Well, they wouldn't want to be in my shoes if they knew what was going on_ , she thought. And she finally arrived, facing Hook. She had to slightly lean on the table behind her to remain standing – and to hide those betraying hands behind her back.

Hook kept still, also slighlty – but elegantly leaned against his desk in a jaunty way. A half smile passed on his face as he looked down on her, his arms crossed against his chest. As he didn't say a word for a few moments, Wendy almost thought she had to say something. Was she supposed to say she was sorry? Should she –

"How is Pan doing, nowadays?" asked Hook, stopping Wendy's thoughts. She blinked, first unsure of what to say. Chosing her words with parsimony, she replied:

"He is fine, I think. I have not seen him since he dropped out of high school." A desdainful scoff escaped from Hook.

"I didn't expect any less from him." Wendy finally raised her chin and finally looked fully at Hook, an eyebrow raised. The way he was looking at her made her unsure of what to think. "However, I am sure that you have, on the contrary, chosen to pursue assiduous studies. Am I right?" She slightly nodded, starting to see where he was going. He continued.

"Now, Ms. Darling – I am your teacher. It definitely isn't in my interest to work against students – no matter how... Unruly and turbulent they once were."

"Why I – I don't... It's just... It's just that..." She stopped, collecting herself, before finishing her sentence. "Thank you, sir. Thank you very much." Wendy was filled with relief; yet, she still was perplex about his attitude. It was indeed expected of him to lead his students towards success; but even in her case, he was showing much more forgiveness than she ever imagined.

"Now, I will not treat you in any way different from any of my students – no more, no less. But make only one mistake; one thing that shows me you haven't changed from that time of insubordination, and I _will_ make your year here a nightmare." He paused, marking his words. "Is that clear for you, Ms. Darling?"

Wendy had her answer ready. "I will not give you a single reason to do so, sir. I have grown out of this temper, you can be sure of that." This answer seemed to please Hook, who nodded in agreement.

"Make sure to remember that, Ms. Darling – and watch your relations. A few more bad influences like Peter Pan surely lurk in this place."

Wendy muttered a few words in agreement before being finally dismissed by Hook.

At the end of the day, she had survived this much better than she thought she would have.

For the following weeks, Hook kept his word: he didn't treat her any different than any other students. He ignored her just as much as he did with anybody else. However, his talk with Wendy didn't go unnoticed by the other girls; soon, a few approached her, curious about what had got her that special attention from their teacher. Wendy told them the true reason, and some who were just looking for crusty gossip scoffed and went away. Others, still fascinated by the literature teacher with blue eyes, remained within Wendy's circle, even if she explained them she probably wouldn't speak to the man again.

"Really, he _is_ now ignoring me! Sometimes, I even think he has entirely forgotten my existence."

"Now, come on, Wendy; you are the only girl of the class who got to speak with him privately" started once again her new friend Lily, a lovely native girl. Her magnetic black eyes and languid voice had put every boy at her feet; except the object of her attentions, Hook, who never did so as to notice her. "Surely there _is_ something" she concluded, nudging and winking. Wendy laughed heartily; Lily had now given up any hope on Hook, but she kept on teasingly reminding her that she had been at the core of every literature class gossip for a whole week.

"Okay, enough joking around, Lily" concluded Wendy. "Now, please give me the work on Euripides for next week please?"

For a time, Wendy felt definitely pleased with how the situation had turned out; she only had to remain studious, which surely wouldn't be a problem, and her year was secure. Furthermore, being entirely ignored by Mr. Hook wasn't such a big price to pay, wasn't it?

Except she found herself glancing at him from time to time during class. It wasn't much at first; besides, it didn't mean anything. She simply looked at him the way any other person would when following a lesson. But after hearing so much praise about his looks from her friends, surely she could check if they were right... So there she was, gazing at her teacher a little longer than required; as he never noticed her, she felt free to do so, not guilty of anything. After all, it was just _looking_ at someone, right? It didn't mean anything, she kept telling herself.

It didn't mean anything until she started looking forward to her literature classes, thinking about it the day before – then every day of the week. It didn't mean anything until she found herself thinking about _him_ , lying in her bed at night. She simply needed to see him; just to see him a little more everyday. She just liked to look at him, to note every detail of his features, from his long curly hair to his slighlty crooked smile. He never smiled, she had noticed, so it filled her with the most wonderful and mellow feeling when he rarely did. But he never smiled at _her_.

And from now on, it was all a game of spying onto her teacher.

Wendy found herself lingering at the end of the classes, remaining in the corridors afterwards just to get a glimpse of him as he left the room; or she would arrive earlier to see him – he would only pass through, not even acknowledging her presence.

So she kept on glancing, enjoying his presence, thinking he would never notice, since she pratically didn't exist to his eyes – yes, she was sure of it.

Until one day, he glanced back.


	3. Burning desire

**Warning: Here be monsters... And by monsters, please do understand smut. Well, some to begin with. You are warned.**

* * *

 _Looking once_

 _looking twice_

 _looking away_

 _pretending not to care._

 _You don't see me until the moment I think_

 _I'm safe_

 _That's when the danger comes in_

 _and I'm dead because you're mine_

* * *

He _glanced_ back.

Wendy had started to realise she was thinking a little too much about her professor Hook lately. And, for Heaven's sake, he was her _teacher_. What right had her thoughts to be filled with him all the time? Surely, this would lead to nothing good.

First of all, distracting. Distracting wasn't compatible with success. And she went to college looking for success, after all. Nothing else.

Secondly, keeping a respectable distance with superiors. She had learnt it was the way the world went; people had to respect their social boundaries. In that case, he was simply here to teach her – to teach the class. Nothing else.

Thus, one day, she decided she should ignore him – just the way he did her. If she stopped looking at him so much, he would fill her thoughts less and less, she reflected. She would therefore regain control of the situation. She couldn't stand being consumed by her wish to see him, to be around him, every day of the week. It was not acceptable – by oh so many standarts. She wouldn't look at him again...

But it didn't prevent her to keep on thinking about him from time to time. Especially when she was laying in bed at night.

Whenever she had needs, whenever she felt her body craved for release, her imagination took off. Before, she went for many fantaisies – a famous actor, a singer, a character in a book. It all started a year after she left the neighbourhood of her childhood. She was now 14, and had started to experiment many things with her body. At first, alone; when she grew older, with a few boys. Many, just as inexperimented as her, didn't leave a lasting memory she would be fond of. But at least, she was now fully aware of what she could do – and what she wanted.

And, unfortunately, the only thing she wanted – it was clear to her now – was a pair of mesmerizing blue eyes boring into hers as her body tensed; as the slowly builed tautness would come up, and up, until she couldn't catch her breath. What she wanted was hands, sliding over her body, caressing her hair; fingers running through her strands, gripping them, ever more harder, as she cried for release. The soft and absent-minded brushing of his shoulder against hers, along the corridor in the day, would lit up her thoughts in the night. Her knees weakened, and, reenacting that touch in her mind, again and again, she slipped with tantalizing anticipation her hand lower and lower. Thinking of his touch. Thinking of what he could do _more_.

Yes, Hook had become the main character of her fantaisies. All she did was telling herself stories before going to sleep. She had many now; all following the same pattern. Like the one where, after class, he would come and see her; he would lock the door, and she would anxiously breathe faster, realizing _something_ was going on. He would make her senseless with his avid caresses; but she would render him powerless while slowly slipping onto her knees, making her way to that ever-growing form well concealed under those clothes.

Or the one where she would get detention – he would keep her after class to clean the room. But when she would clumsily splash water onto her white shirt, he wouldn't be able to focus any longer onto his tasks. Later, said tasks would be thrown on the floor while his desk would have gotten another use.

She kept on going on like this for a few weeks. She delighted in the simple and free lustiness of her mellow fantaisies. She didn't do any harm, she told herself as the last waves of pleasure ran along her vivid body. As long as she did well in class and never imagined there could be something more, something real – no, that would be impossible, forbidden and most of all, inconceivable – it was all right. So she soon tried not to think about it – like it could ever become something real – too much. She was young, she had needs – it just seemed that her teacher simply corresponded to the physical criteria she had set on men. He was blank – she could project absolutely anything on him.

But one day, he glanced back.

She was hurrying her way up the corridor, headed straight into the direction to her classroom. It was only a few steps away from another class – and she knew all too well that this classroom behind her belonged to her literature teacher. He could be there. And she was determined to avoid him, to get rid of this powerful obsession that grew a little too much to her taste. So Wendy fastened her pace, keeping her eyes on the ground, slightly upset about it all. Every step she took led her further away from Hook's classroom, and she thought she had won another little victory – over herself, over her obsession. But she had to raise her chin and look up when she almost bumped into someone, with a pace almost as fast as hers, and had to avoid him slighlty.

That someone looked at her; and in a single second, a handfull of expressions crossed the young girl's face. Suprise and shock, at first, for she most definitly wasn't expecting him _here_ ; then, anger, because once again she lost one of these little every-day victories. And it all mixed into something she couldn't conceal – pleasure. Pleasure to see him. Her cheeks, already flushed with annoyance, took another hint of red, while her eyes said much more.

And likewise, the eyes of her teacher said much more than anything else he could have put down in words.

Something went alight into Wendy's mind and body. Thunder had struck and it pinned her down for an eternal second. Because she knew.

She knew nothing would be the same: she could analyse and read people's minds with a single look. And she recognized the look her teacher gave her the second her eyes met his. What she read in them terrified her.

Nothing would be the same. Because Lust was there, gleaming, hidden within the beguiling forget-me-not blue. He was hers and she knew it.

He passed next to her, too close, carrying his way down the corridor. It all happened in a few heartbeats. But Wendy's life changed when she felt the burning desire running through her body – and through his.

/

He knew she was watching him. She was always watching him, and he _knew_.

A month and a half had passed since he had had an explanation with Wendy about her past as a little and frustrating troublemaker. She kept her word and had bowed down to what he had asked: she kept her profile low, and worked as hard as any college student could. He didn't expect any less from her.

As for him, he took up his own part of the bargain: he treated her just like he did any other student, that is to say – by competely ignoring her. Soon, she became part of the every-day scenery; a young student, lost amongst others. She had good grades, she listened in class, and that was it.

Oh, but he could see that she looked at him a little more intensely every day. He was already aware that most of his female students didn't peer at him because of his thoroughgoing speech about Aristotle's catharsis. But that Wendy would start looking at him this way, too? That was most unexpected.

Yet, strangely enough, not unwelcome.

He knew about the school's rules – he was a professional, after all. Thinking about a student other than for teaching buissness was surely not allowed. But he had spend many years in this establishment – he knew well about the other teacher's whereabouts. Mr. Cecco, the Italian teacher, certainly forgot all about the rules whenever he fancied one of his students. Mrs. Bell, a beautiful woman teaching physics, finally gave in to one of her student's advances after 3 long years. Therefore, who could blame Hook, should he simply appreciate Wendy's beauty? He wouldn't go any further than the teasing glances. He didn't need more. Hook simply wanted to make her feel awful, to make her feel terrible, for the feelings she quite obviously held for him. What a slow and soft revenge for the past years. And the best thing was – she brought it all on herself.

He allowed the game to continue. He kept on playing, acting like Wendy didn't exist – but he surely did notice her presence. He couldn't wait for the day where he could finally tell her that he knew she came a little before the lesson started just to see him outside of the classroom. To tell her he knew she stayed a little while longer to remain near him, should it be a second more. To tell her he could feel her eyes burning behind him as she watched him pass by. And it all delighted him.

But Hook wasn't a patient man. He had to watch her too – to meet her glance, at last. He couldn't be teased forever. Those eyes called him, desperatly; after a month of this game, he could only oblige and look back at her.

On a Thursday like any other, Wendy was getting to her next class in a hurry. She kept her eyes to the ground, seemingly bothered. He was peering at her under hooded eyes, making his way down the corridor, wondering what could fluster the young thing. And suddenly, she looked up at him.

He saw it all: the slight blush, the lips softly parted. The confusion. The desire.

What was just a game had just become something more.

Hook realised he truly wanted her. He needed to possess her, fully. He craved to hear her scream his name.

And she carried down her way, just like he did his.

That was the only exchange which would take place for an extended period of time.

* * *

 **So here I am, slowly and carefully going down the Smut Road... This is my very first attempt, so please don't hesitate to tell me what I should fix, what were your impressions, etc...**

 **Thank you! ;) x**


	4. Total control

**Thank you all so much, Pest, LaurieReads, Persephone A. Black, AmyPond31, Ann, Dafne, and my dearest Guest for all your kind and great reviews so far! It really motivates me to write more of this story.**

 **Unfortunately, I'm afraid I won't be able to post so often once I start college again in September... As much as I would love to, I certainly will be too busy most of the time to write.**

 **If you love Hook (and I suppose you do - he is a great pick, after all), maybe you can check my other story, _To Believe In Fairies_ , while you wait for the rest of _Dead Because You're Mine._ There's 16 chapters already - and altough it isn't as saucy as this story, things are still getting quite heated in this pairing as well!**

 **Thanks again for the wonderful support! -x**

* * *

 _Too young_

 _too eager_

 _unexperimented, you hope your looks will go_

 _unoticed_

 _until one day_

 _they don't._

* * *

James Hook was deeply bothered.

He had thought himself clever, allowing that girl – this damned, foolish Wendy – to take an interest in him. Only too obliged to corrupt the thoughts of the young girl, he let the game go on, ignoring her – only to tease her more. And finally, without even having to lift a single finger, the girl fell for him, entirely and utterly. He read it all in her anxious features, her craving eyes raised to him in that corridor.

She was now most likely tortured day and night by this forbidden attraction. It was all going according to plan, then. All to make her pay for those young years of neighbourhood rivalry.

What James Hook didn't expect, however, was that, gazing at her in that corridor on that dreadful day – something shifted inside him as well. Yes; he couldn't possibly ignore the latent deep and warm feeling that filled him at this moment. Thinking about it, Wendy – that terrible, awful, darling Wendy – appeared to him.

There she was, complete, ready. Those sweet eyes, waiting, begging. Those soft lips, oh so welcoming. Her bosom, swiftly rising up and down with feminine delicacy. Wendy. Her clothing, finally slipping from her snow-white shoulders. Wendy, so complete in her charming nudity. Ready for him. He could almost –

 _Fuck!_

What in the seven hells possessed him? Was he ever so easily distracted? He had his revenge. She fell for him; that was all he needed. No longer should he ever think about her. Yes, he was sure to cast that girl aside from his thoughts forever.

Hook could cast Wendy away from his thoughts – but it didn't cast her away from his life. He was still confronted to her presence almost every day – confronted to her, being near. And with a deadly fever did he expect theses days.

As if the roles were now inverted, Hook couldn't help but glance at Wendy – that sweet temptation – as she, strong and incorruptible, would ignore him. He arrived later to his classes, hoping she would seek him as she waited. Opening the door, he peered at her from the corner of his eyes – and there she was, always, acting as if he had never existed. During the lesson, it appeared that her notebook was the most important thing there ever was, never raising her eyes from it, imperturbable.

The burning sensation inside him warned him that this couldn't go on.

This couldn't go on; he needed something else. He wanted her to acknowledge his presence – to finally, look at him once more.

But he knew that if she ever did, she would initiate their undoing.

Hook wasn't a patient man – and less so, a reasonable one. He would get to her, even if it would set out their downfall. Because he craved for that hidden message in the corner of her lips.

/

"What do you mean, oral exams?" Asked some voice, lost in the crowd of the suprised class.

"Yes, oral exams, you heard well, Mr. Nibsson." The rumor in the class got slightly louder. "This is a truly beneficial exercise for all of you. Literature should be written, surely – but it also must be told, spoken. Think about the oral tradition of epics during the Antiquity; or the Medieval _chansons de geste_ in Europe _._ "

"So what, you want us to, like, write a poem for ya', sir?" Said another voice with bravado.

"Certainly not, Ms. Nerissa. This class doesn't teach you how to write _poems_ ; you need to be capable of analysing the finest pieces of literature before thinking about doing any of that. Therefore, you will be given a random subject. You will have to do profound and thorough researches about it, so that you can present it all in a 30 minute lecture. I expect it to be professional and concrete. You are not in high-school anymore; it is time to give you a real challenge, after all."

"Oh, so it's like a powerpoint presentation in front of the whole class, then?" Risked somebody else.

The college professor shuddered at the mere thought of it. He had always wanted to keep schoolteaching far away from those modern complications, favouring classic and old-fashionned ways instead.

"No, Mr. O'Toot. No 'powerpoints' - and no show-off in front of the whole class either. You will all present your analysis to me individually; one by one. About that, please do consult the schedule prepared for that reason on the papers I will give you." And with that final explanation, Hook then proceeded to hand out the different subjects to every student, as the rumor and exclamations sprang from all other the place.

And Wendy Darling was mortified.

She couldn't care less about the amount of work this project represented. But what this oral exam _meant_ made her want to disappear from the surface of the Earth at this very instant. Thirty minutes. An entire half hour spent with Hook in a room; only Hook and nobody else. She would have to speak to him. To look at him. To bear the overwhelming sensations of being with him.

How could she withhold her sentiments then?

A hand placed on her desk made her shudder; but she didn't look up, fully knowing whose hand it was. The hand remained there for a little too long, her subject underneath. She could feel her professor's eyes laid on her, expecting. But she kept on looking down, vaguely and poorly. At last, the hand and the man went away, slowly. "The evolution of the rules of theater in Hugo's Cromwell", the paper read. "To present on the thirteenth of November." She knew exactly what to say about it. But she would rather jump from the nearest roof than present it all to that man. The heat in her cheeks seemed to spread and burn her very being.

/

She had to present her lecture on a Wednesday. Yet another reason for her to loathe that precise day of the week. Every fiber of her being wanted to turn around and run away; but her mind cruelly kept on telling her this was pointless. From now on, there was no turning back.

 _Damn him_ , she thought as she waited by the door. Nervous fingers kept on fidgeting with the papers she held close to her chest, as if she wished she could merge with them once and for all. Her lower lip was turning red with the many assaults of her apprehensive teeth, nibbling and biting. She was ready, she knew it. But this obviously wasn't the reason she worried so much. Anyone else seeing her at this moment would have thought she was on her way to a deadly trial. Perhaps this was worse.

 _Contain yourself. Just read your damned notes, Wendy Angela Moira Darling._ She played the careful advices in her mind on repeat. _Just imagine you are in front of someone else; like Michael, or John! Anyone but him._

And suddenly, the door opened.

James Hook stood there, a hand on the handle and the other firmly laid on the door-frame. He looked down at her, with something hidden in his eye – something she unfortunately recognized only too well. An infinity of moments passed, before he finally opened his mouth – his cruel and tantalizing mouth.

"Wendy, Darling. Please do come in."

She stepped inside the room as if she stepped inside the very mouth of Hell.

The usual classroom had been taken by the drama club, and therefore Hook had to pick another one. He chose the archive room. A single table, two chairs facing each other. And walls, too close, encircling them both. Taking the air out of the place.

"Please, do sit, Ms. Wendy." She didn't like the way her name tasted on his lips. Or perhaps she did, a little too much. And that was why she hated it as well. With shaky hands hardly concealed, Wendy pulled the chair and sat down, the weight of the world on her shoulders.

"Then," began Hook as he sat down in front of her, dim lights making him look like a macabre figure from a chiaroscuro painting. "You may begin".

She took two breathes in. Two breathes out. Her eyes flitting close for a single heartbeat, she opened them, focused. She was ready.

"The rules of unity in dramaturgy appeared at first in Italy and France, during the 16th and 17th centuries. Expanding Aristotle's definition of tragedy, the critics and writers – such as Racine or Molière – managed to structure plays according to three unities..."

James Hook listened. He truly listened – he was a teacher, after all – taking notes, stoical. Within her, Wendy felt grateful for that; strangely enough, she didn't feel uncomfortable. Perhaps she was being carried away with her lecture; perhaps he truly wanted her to succeed, after all, by being professional. Perhaps she had simply imagined all of these ideas of mutual and dangerous attraction.

"By 1827, Hugo had published his famous ' _Préface de Cromwell_ ', attempting to replace those classic unities by more romantic standards."

Everything was going much better than she would have thought. In-between two sentences, she had glanced at her wristwatch, noticing that fifteen minutes had already gone by. It was all perfect.

"Unfortunately, the quarrel of the Ancients and the Moderns at that time..." Wendy stopped. A foot had abstractedly slipped towards her legs. And brushed softly against her skin. Turning red from head to toes, Wendy swiftly pulled back her feet, burying them as far away as possible. James Hook looked up from his notes, an inquisitive – and falsely genuine – look of questioning on his features. His eyebrow was raised and his mouth slighly opened.

"...The quarrel of the Ancients and the Moderns, yes?" He encouraged her, a mocking smile teasingly tugging at the corner of his lips. This contact had set her very core alight with burning desire; she squirmed and crossed her legs to try to ease down the longing tension between her thighs. That wretched man.

Gathering herself, Wendy continued. She spoke faster now, writhing the corner of the pages she held, trying to get herself out of this situation as fast as she could. Slipping the last words incomprehensibly, she finally concluded her lecture. She almost let out a heavy sigh of relief as she put down her paper. And she looked up at her teacher, expecting to be dismissed. As he kept on scribbling notes, Wendy decided she couldn't wait any longer; she gathered her bag and attempted to stand up, when he put down his pen and interrupted her actions.

"Well, Ms. Wendy. Now, for some questions." Wendy fell back on her chair, a look of dismay crossing her features. "What could you tell me about the romantic mores at that time? How do they have an impact on dramaturgy?" _Thank god_ , she thought. She didn't know why she had expected worse types of questions.

"The romantic mores were quite liberal, especially opposed to the political repression... Some fought this political repression with plays, like Musset did with _Lorenzaccio_."

"What could you tell me about the themes found in that play?" Carried on Hook.

"Well, there is the romanticism of the eponymous character, who is not unlike Hamlet, or Musset himself... He is, like most romantics by the 1830's, hopeless yet striving for change."

"I feel like you are also forgetting the depravity of this character, Ms. Wendy. The games of seduction found throughout the play." Wendy felt a burning knot tying her throat. She swiftly dried her palms onto her thighs, before attempting to answer. But her mouth was desperately dry. So she simply nodded, hoping the questioning would end here. Hook's eyes, impertubable, were once again fixed on her elusive ones.

A profound and heavy silence weighed in the room, filled with what was left unsaid. Wendy crossed her legs, sharply conscious of the heat, the burning, the desire – it was too much. Suddenly, she glanced up, looking full and straight at him. He was smiling, beguiling as ever. Unconsciouly, she bit her already damaged lower lip, hard. Hook's gaze was irresistibly drawn to it. And his vicious smile broadened.

Finally, with a look filled with implications, James Hook broke the tense atmosphere of the place. Standing up, he took two steps towards the door.

"Thank you, Ms. Wendy, for that lecture. Quite scholar-like, certainly. But you might want to go... Deeper into your researches, next time." Wendy simply nodded and stepped quickly towards the door as well. She couldn't be more relieved to be finally done. But as she wrapped her hand onto the handle, she felt fingers doing the same.

James Hook had intended to open the door for her at the same time she did. And now, she felt his hand, burning – or was it hers? - onto her fingers. She wouldn't look up – her entire body had frozen, although her mind was set on fire by that contact.

Fingers moved. Not hers. Slowly at first, Hook's fingertips, caressing, slipped down, following the shape of her knuckles. A hot and heavy feeling seized her stomach, which slid down, and down. Everything went silent. Dead, hot, and heavy silence. Air pressed on her chest, as her haphazard breathing went out of control. The silence was slowly smothering them.

Then, without being able to further control her own motions, Wendy felt her thumb, acting on its own design, brush so gently against his. The tension and desire Wendy had kept concealed for so long were suddenly set alight by that minuscule motion. But still, she couldn't dare to look up, now afraid to loose that moment forever.

Hook's hand carried on its exploration of Wendy's soft skin. Slithering down, and down. Breathing heavily, haphazardly; sometimes even forgetting to breathe, Wendy felt her eyelids close gently at the softest touch. She could give in. She could. She should.

A second hand took her by suprise. It approached her waist, slowly; and she felt it before it even touched her. It was as if a violent shock of electricity brought her back to her senses. Wendy suddenly opened her eyes and jerked back, before opening the door in a decided hurry. She rushed through it, her heart almost beating out of her chest. With great strides, she made her way down the corridor, never looking back. And with two steps more, she was gone.

James Hook simply smiled, standing at the door-frame, as he curled his hand into a fist. The sensation of her skin was still tingling at his fingertips.

"Until next time... Wendy, darling."


	5. Dangerous game

**I am terribly sorry for this late update - I told you I wouldn't have much time to write, but I also had to wait for inspiration to come. I couldn't just give you a lousy chapter after all this amazing feedback! Thank you so much, it means a lot. I hope you will like this long chapter where we finally pick up Wendy and Hook right were we left off.**

 **As usual, enjoy! -x**

* * *

 _You think you are in control_

 _but things_

 _are slipping_

 _slipping from your ardent grasp_

 _you're not as strong_

 _as you think_

* * *

Holidays.

That was what she needed. A nice, long break, far away from everyone.

Far away from him.

He had been in her thoughts for way too long. This ridicule passion made everything unsuffreable. It had turned her peaceful life into a turmoil of temptation and forbidden attraction. And it made her feel more and more miserable as days went by.

His blue eyes were in her mind, always, ever since _that moment_. She remembered she had to repress the urge to run back to her room. Once she got there, Wendy opened and locked the door behind her. At first, all she did was to stare blankly at the floor, her mind wandering somewhere else. But then, something cold and bittersweet ran on her face. Tears.

Unable to contain herself anymore, Wendy fell to her knees.

 _Anyone, please, save me from this. Please._

 _I can't continue like this. I can't stand being miserable all the time._

 _Please. Please. Save me from this. Save me._

She wouldn't be able to ever know how long she remained there - on her knees, repeating an endless plea over and over until she forgot she was doomed into this endless circle of – torture, of desire. She hated herself. She loathed everything that had led to this moment. It was never meant to be this way.

She never thought she would one day, be this ready, this close, to throw away her reputation for a mere second of pleasure.

For the first time since she knew they both desired each other, she wondered about what would happen: if she finally – finally – listened to her heart and not her mind.

And the answer was there, clear as dawn.

It would destroy her. At first, it would be wonderful – to give in, after having constrained herself for this long. But then, people would know. People always end up to know. And her life would be over; her scholarship would be taken away; her friends would turn their back to her. She wouldn't be able to ever face the disappointment in her mother's eyes.

And there wasn't a single person she could talk to about it.

So when the holidays finally arrived, she was more than rejoiced to get away from her troubles.

Her mother's embrace lifted all of her troubles away. Michael and John celebrated her arrival with just as much glee she would have expected – and in the second, she was a child again, giggling and joking with them again. Even her father, who usually rarely showed his emotions, was affectionate and caring during dinner. She felt like her old self again – the family was there, altogether. Nothing would ever seem to disrupt the peace and the mirth amongst them.

But when she looked away, only one thing was in her thoughts. The holidays tasted bittersweet for the first few days; as much as she felt calm and collected with her family around, she could never fully enjoy the moment. Her mind always seemed to drift away. And she was cruelly aware of the reason why.

Mrs. Darling was there to notice the subtle change in her. But she knew better than to bother her grown-up daughter with her motherly worries. Instead, she acted upon it, doing something that she knew would help lift her child's spirits. Yes, Mrs. Darling was full of great intentions. But she could never have known what the consequences of her considerate attention would be.

/

"Where are you taking us?" Michael had only been sitting in the car for five minutes, but he was already fidgeting with his seatbelt and sighing loudly.

"You know it's a surprise," came John's reply, "so why keep on asking?"

"Because I want to get some clues before we get there. I'm not sure I like suprises anyway – I'm never patient enough to fully appreciate them!"

"Gee, so I suppose we'll just cancel that suprise birthday party we had planned for you, little brother!" interrupted Wendy.

"Wait up there! You had a birthday party planned for me? C'mon, why did you tell me? Now you've ruined the suprise!"

John and Wendy bursted in laughter and Mr. Darling had to slow down – he was a very cautious driver and anything too sudden would give him a fright while he was on the road.

"Calm down, children – it won't be long" reassured Mrs. Darling. Altough the trio on the backseat didn't usually appreciate to be treated like children, they kept still. Nobody wanted an accident, especially not when their father could provoke one without their help in the first place.

After an hour and half of driving, Wendy started to recognize the elements that surrounded them. The trees. That alley. That house.

It all came back to her, and she was too teary-eyed to say anything as they made their return to her childhood neighbourhood.

"Mother! Why, isn't it -?" started John.

"Yes! Are we -?" continued Michael, imitating the tone of his older brother.

"Suprise!" finally erupted their mother, a smile on her face. "We are going to a neighbourhood reunion! Now, don't say anything – I know you all wonder if your old friends will be there. And, I can tell you for sure – yes, they will." To that declaration, the boys bounced on their seats, shouting with glee, causing Mr. Darling to almost hit a tree on the sidewalk. When they slowly managed to park and get out of the car in one piece, Wendy looked around anxiously, looking for her friend. And there he was.

Peter ran to her, practically skipping – and the two of them jumped into each other's arms in a kind and warm embrace.

"Wendy! Oh geez, it's so good to see you!"

"Oh, Peter – it's been quite a while! Well – how have you been? I'm sure you have so many things to tell me! I really ought to catch up!"

"Why, I don't even know where to start! Hey, maybe you want to hear about the crazy wreck we caused, the boys and I, at the shack the other day? Okay, so –"

Wendy was so happy to see her friend once more that she could have sworn her eyes were shining with excitment. Oh, the things they had to share! They were babbling like two kids when they took a sit next to each other at the table. The weather was agreeable and the neighbour who hosted the party, Mrs. Dile, had chosen to lay the buffet outside to enjoy the last rays of sunshine of the year.

"Are we expecting anyone else or is everyone here?" shouted the host to the party.

"Well, there's a few more seats left, but I guess we should start to eat before the food gets cold!" suggested one guest, and the rest of them eagerly agreed. Without further ado, the neighbours old and new officially started the reunion. With her friend by her side, all of Wendy's troubles were gone. How could she worry about her recent problems when Peter had so many stories to tell? A few seats away from them, John and Michael were already messing around with "the boys", which brought back old memories to Wendy's mind.

Peter had always been a small child, and now still Wendy was taller than him. But his aura and youth was making him just as fascinating as before – one should have been blind not to see it. Even the adults noticed it and a certain form of respect was shown to him, although, sitting at the table and engrossed with the stories of his adventures, the boy didn't seem to percieve it.

Her mother's idea was wonderful, thought Wendy for a moment. She felt finally freed from her worries. She lived the moment to the fullest, exchanging memories and making new ones.

"Oh, does anyone know who's car is this?" asked . Dile quite loudly, interruping the old friends' joyful chatter. Wendy turned around to see a shining red car parking on the sidewalk in front of the house. "Why, it must be one of the other guests! Oh, wait, I know who this is – he told me he would be a little late –"

In one fluid movement, the man opened his door and stepped out of the car.

 _Fuck._

Wendy's stomach almost turned to see James Hook approaching the reunion. Taking off his sunglasses but keeping his beguiling smile on, he took Mrs. Dile's hand and apologized.

"Please, forgive me for this dreadful delay. I am reassured to see none of you waited and started to enjoy the festivities without me."

"Why, there is no need for such apologies! Here, come sit with us, everyone's delighted to see you here –"

"No." Peter stood up from his chair with vivacity. "I am not _delighted_ to see you here, Hook, you old codfish!"

There were gasps. Shocked heads turned to the boy dressed in green, but only one man kept his composure.

"Why, Peter Pan! I am not suprised to see you here – although I wished for a somehow different greeting."

"You can keep your greetings for yourself, old man."

"Peter!" Wendy couldn't help but interrupt her friend. She couldn't have imagined such rudeness coming from him – but then, she realised that her exclamation brought the blue eyes that she had been haunted by onto her. Hook's smile broadened while Peter gave her a dreadful look.

"But, Wendy! Haven't you forgotten? He's supposed to be our greatest enemy!" Feeling all the eyes fixed on her, Wendy turned red. Everyone was silent, following the scene as it it were placed on a stage for them to watch.

"Peter, that was a long time ago... You cannot continue to behave like the child you were then!" She couldn't see Hook's face. But she was certain he was smiling. He was winning – thanks to her.

"So, that's it, then? You're on his side?" came Peter's reply. His tone was filled with a cold, yet childish rage.

"I am on no one's side, Peter. Can't you see? This is not how it works anymore. The game has changed."

Peter stood as if the world had fallen appart, but remained, filled with anger and dignity.

"If this is how you see things now, I don't see why I should stay here any longer. Have a nice party, everyone." She tried to say something, but he was already stepping away. "Wendy, you may come back to see me when you have come back to your senses. Let's go, boys."

And in a blink of an eye, Peter and the boys had left, along with the cheerfulness of the party. Everyone stood, flabbergasted, until Mrs. Dile remembered it was a party and it was supposed to be joyous – she had a reputation of hostess to maintain, after all.

"Why, quite a dramatic turn of events, isn't it? I just hope the corn hasn't cooled down during this whole affair!" A few laughs acclaimed this attempt to cheer up the party, and soon enough everything was forgotten. Only Wendy kept on staring at the empty space where Peter had been.

"Say, Mr. Hook, how come you're not seated yet? Come, take a sit next to Wendy, since the place is free."

"I would be delighted."

 _Oh no_ , thought Wendy as she heard Mrs. Dile's proposition. As soon as she did, she swore to herself she would hate the woman until the end of her days. With a swift movement, James Hook drew the chair and sat down next to her. She turned red – with anger, and with something else. He avoided her gaze as much as she did his – but there was no use ignoring the warmth of his body, so close next to her. And there was no denying – he was the one with the control.

"That was nice of you to defend our dear Mr. Hook, Wendy!" said one of the guest in front of her. "To tell you the truth, it's wonderful to see that some young people can be mature sometimes."

"Especially since you didn't have to do that," came another guest's voice. "I do recall you weren't in the best of terms with Mr. Hook as a child!"

Wendy said nothing – she didn't have the time to do so – since the man next to her took it upon himself to reply.

"Indeed, but I have had the confirmation Wendy has been able to mature enough since she left the neighbourhood." She quickly casted a look at him, an eyebrow raised. He continued. "She is actually the most mature student I have the opportunity to teach." _Oh boy_.

"Wendy! You didn't tell us Mr. Hook was one of your teachers!" came her mother's voice. "I should have thought about it, though, but I never made the connexion between your university and the fact he's one of the teachers there."

"Really, you were keeping this secret from us, Wendy?" shouted Michael, only adding to his sister's discomfort.

"I – It just never crossed my mind to tell you about it, that's all." She could feel Hook's eyes buring her, right to her side.

"Well, don't keep any other secrets like this from us next time!" concluded John, before returning to his third plate of pasta.

"Yes, Wendy", added Hook softly, only for her to hear. "Please, don't keep any secret for yourself next time." He was close. Too close.

It was too much.

She stood up abruptly, although no one really paid attention. Muttering something about helping in the kitchen, she fled into the house.

The contrast between the hot air of the outside and the cool temperature of the kitchen helped her breathe easier. The house was empty, and she enjoyed a moment of peace and quiet, placing both her hands on the sink and closing her eyes for a while.

Once her breathing was regular, she took a few plates from the table. Turning the sink on, she allowed the water to warm up for a second before grabbing a sponge and cleaning the grease off the dish. After doing so, she seized a towel to dry it and put it next to her, then proceeded to do the same with the remaining plates. Only the clang of the porcelain sounded in the room as she piled them up one by one.

"You seemed rather distraught when you left so abrubtly."

Wendy almost dropped the plate in the sink at the sound of the voice. She paused for a while, not even bothering to turn around to face him.

"I needed some space for myself."

"Really?" The irony in his tone was evident, and for a second she felt like smashing the plate against his skull. But instead, she kept her back turned to him.

"Intimacy isn't really a concept you seem able to grasp, since you are still here and haven't left me alone like anyone else would have."

A chuckle escaped Hook, who took a few steps closer.

"On the contrary." His voice was lower, making Wendy's lower stomach ache. "I fancy myself quite an expert when it comes to intimacy."

Wendy couldn't repress a shiver. The man behind her felt it.

"Do I frighten you, Wendy?"

She dropped the plate in the sink.

"I am not afraid of you -" came her reply, not as fierceful as she had hoped it would be. She turned around to face him, willing to push him back. But he was closer than she had imagined and something inside her wouldn't allow her to move. Wendy found his eyes boring into hers, their faces – only inches apart. She paused for a second – just a millisecond – to try and remember what it was she had meant to say. But how could she focus when his warm breath was brushing so softly against her cold neck. Her legs might have given up if the swarming feeling between them hadn't burned her insides so acutely. Suddenly, a dash of pride ran into her veins, reminding her of who she was; of what she wanted to avoid, and she continued – yet in her eyes gleamed the remains of hesitation and doubt.

"- I am afraid of what could happen."

The intensity of the look she gave then made the man before her take a step back. And Wendy could breathe again. She was saved. This newfound power helped her to keep her head up – trying to the read through the complex layers of expressions he then offered. Outside, the clouds gathered and the room grew darker for a minute or two, making his features unreachable – unreadable. As he made his decision, only the blue eyes remained. She was transfixed.

He didn't say anything. There was nothing there to add – not when the magnetic feeling between them was so loud, so cruelly obvious. He did the only thing that made sense to both of them. Hook grew closer, making her take a step back, farther away from the window. He entierly cornered her, but she couldn't tell if she was resisting any longer. The daylight was fading and the only thing she could look at was him – only him. A shadow of a face cut out from the rest of the word.

As her back touched the wall, she became cruelly aware of the lack of space between their bodies. No further escape was left and he placed both his hands at each side of her frame. He could tell she was slightly shaking.

Afraid of what would happen.

Gently, he lowered his right hand to push a strand of her chestnut hair away from her face. He remained there and his skin brushed against her cheek. As he followed the contour of her delicate jawline with the tip of his fingers, her head swayed to the side, trying to catch this ghost-like gesture. Not letting it go.

Then, only then, with deliberate slowness, he leaned in. He caught the sigh escaping her as he allowed his mouth to linger over the tempting skin of her neck. So close. Their eyes closed in unisson as he annihilated the space remaining between them, and no softer touch was ever given to a woman as his lips tasted the sweetness of her skin.

She was undone. Her mouth opened – against her will – as he moved up her neck. She smelled like black cherries and he drank her scent in. Gently, oh so gently, he placed the most burning kisses up and up her neckline, until he reached for what she expected with built eagerness – that secret place right beneath the ear. As he slightly scraped his teeth against her flesh – right there – she left a moan, the most pleasant one he ever heard, escape her swollen lips.

Yet she didn't move. She couldn't. It was his very presence which had this effect onto her – body and mind. She craved him, and here he was – hers. But it was still her decision to make. To give in would come off as the greatest danger she would ever face. He started to kiss her jawline, as if it contained a mystery to unveil. Her breathing was short and she was pinned down by each of his tantalizing kisses. He would soon reach up to her mouth. And first of all, the corners of her mouth, which held the greatest mystery of all.

This mouth longed to be kissed. And now, she realised – it was only ever meant to be kissed by him. This man was made to discover treasures, and she would give him a treasure of her own.

Closer – his mouth was hot, his breathing one with hers –

The front door opened and closed, far away in the world behind them. Lound clangs and chatter drew them instantly back to reality. As soon as they moved away from each other, Mrs. Dile came in the kitchen – their sanctuary only seconds ago.

"Oh, thank you for having cleaned around here – I meant to do so just now – but can you imagine? It was so sunny awhile ago and then it started pouring down out there!" She was soaked. But neither of them had heard the rain tapping loudly against the window.


	6. Delirious

**Back due to popular demand: another chapter of this sexual-tension-filled story. It's not much, but I hope it is enough to testify that I am not giving up onto this fiction... After all, the fun has _just_ started!**

* * *

"Wendy, darling? Please, don't hesitate to call me if you need anything."

It was the third time that her mother had knocked on her door this morning. And it was barely even 10 o'clock.

"Thanks, mom", replied Wendy from across the door, "but I believe the only thing I need today is some rest."

Once she heard her mother's steps turning away from her door, Wendy allowed herself to lay back down onto the thick mattress of her bed, and let her mind wander into nothingness.

They had left Mrs. Dile's house soon after it had started raining. All in all, it had been a rather pleasant reunion. Everyone had had their share of joyous talks; had exchanged about their current lives; had appreciated the warmth of a homely meal in the company of good people. It was only reluctantly that everyone left, forced out by the rain; so much that they had all agreed to say they would meet up again in no time.

And Wendy couldn't look at anyone in the eye – not out of shame, but because she couldn't get herself to focus onto anything. It was as if everything that surrounded her was in a blur, softly escaping from her gaze each time she blinked. She wasn't there. She was wandering into a dream, her feet barely touching the ground, denying her the reassuring grasp of reality. As hard as she might try, she couldn't remember leaving the house, nor did she remember the ride home. Had she talked to her brothers, to her parents, to the host and guests? She might have muttered some thanks that she didn't mean in the least. But beyond that, she was empty of any memory following that – moment.

That moment, when everything finally became true. Real. She had been afraid; but the second his lips touched her neck, every trace of hesitation had vanished – like it had never existed. This denial, this tantalizing denial, had only fuelled her desire, burning, from which she couldn't escape, even if she had wanted to. But how could she want to escape, when - at last - his tobacco and pepper scent had reached her? When she felt his teeth, ready to devour her, grazing against the lobe of her ear? And it was all but a fraction of what was to come. Of what he had silently promised her.

Laying down onto the soft fabric of her sheets, Wendy felt empty. It had been three days since – that moment. She couldn't find a name to define what had happened. Her mind was blank.

She was home; she had shared meals with her family, had watched TV with her brothers. But truthfully, something inside her had stirred, stirred so hard that it had knocked her senses out. Her mother had been the first, if not the only one, to notice she hadn't smiled once in three days. Something was off with her daughter, she knew it. She remembered only too well the way Peter had scorned her on the day of the reunion – but deep down, she sensed their argument must have come from something much more complex than a simple fight between friends. Mrs Darling was a meek woman, who was deeply and accurately affected by what happened around her. And as much as she knew her daughter would keep her secrets for herself, she needed to let her know that she was there. Her helping hand would always be extended, even if several years might come and go before her daughter reached for it.

So she allowed Wendy to rest, for now. One day, she might know what it was all about. In the meantime, the only thing she could do was to prepare Wendy's favourite dessert; blueberry pie, hoping it might make her come down from her room. The last time she had prepared it, it had found its way to the neighbour's door, as an apology for the mess Wendy and Peter had made, spilling pink paint onto his freshly mowed lawn. Mrs. Darling smiled as she remembered the scornful look on her daughter's face, when she had made her knock onto Mr. Hook's door, a piece of her favourite pie in her hand. "I can't share it with him, mom! It's not fair, you understand? He's our nemesis!" Her mother, suprised, didn't get the chance to ask her where she had learnt that word, as their neighbour's door opened. Mr. Hook was just as gallant and well-manered as ever, and it had infuriated Wendy when he seemed to genuinely thank them for the attention, telling them that no harm had been done. Mrs. Darling had not seen her daughter dart her tongue at him when she had turned her back, nor had she seen the mischievous look onto Hook's face in return. Yet, two days later, Wendy's proudly home-made tree house had been wrecked by some unknown force. They had blamed the wind, but Wendy held yet another grudge against their terribly polite neighbour.

The sweet smell of blueberry pie softly baking in the oven started to make its way under Wendy's door. Along with it came the reminiscence of this long-forgotten memory. How she had hated her mother, forcing her to meet up with the enemy! How she had hated the look on his face when her mother turned away from his doorstep!

But the smell lingered, and the hate faded. Those mischievous tricks meant nothing now, she told herself, her stomach starting to crave for the dessert awaiting her downstairs. Yet, having all the time in the world, she gave it a second thought.

What if she had never been at war with him when she was younger? What if she had only been just another student, meeting him for the first time a few months ago, unable to strike any interest in the handsome literature teacher? If things had been this way, she might have never been in the trouble she was in now.

So maybe it was bound to happen because of it all – after all these tricks, after all this childish hate – something had to give. This passion wasn't nearly as sweet as the dessert that seemed to beckon her from the kitchen. This passion and desire seemed to have been nourrished from their previous history together, no matter how different from the present circumstances. They had never known which one of them had won their little war, when she left Peter and her old house. Today, their struggle for dominance – over themselves, and over each other – looked a lot like a way to resolve this old conflict. From this unresolved conflict appeared this sudden and unexpected attraction.

But then again, she reflected, it might have always been there. She might have denied it so strongly during her friendship with Peter that she forgot it, but there had always been some kind of something more than hatred she felt towards Hook. When she had seen those blue eyes for the first time, she had been too young to realize what it was. But now, she could dare to name it. Fascination? Certainly. It isn't hard to impress a little girl: a striking face, some original features, or an impressive dress will do the trick. Therefore, the piercing blue eyes and the dark figure were enough to entrance her, even if she could never have predicted what was to come out of it years later.

Indeed, years later, fascination had grown into something else, something more: a hundred times as powerful, and a thousand times as dangerous. Her friendship with Peter was holding onto a thread; he had no power over her. If she wanted to embrace this fascination for the piercing blue eyes that haunted her dreams, she would. She almost entirely had.

When she remembered, laying - as if disembodied - onto her bed, the way his hand crept and seized the back of her neck, it was her own hand that retraced that path. Unable to reach those lips – although they here, warm at the corner of her mouth, in her memory – she threw her skirt aside, frustrated. Burning with desire. She allowed her hand to lower down, still imagining, her eyes firmly closed, his own. Fingers started to trace the countour of her breasts; they came up naturally, up to her pink nipple; along with them, up went her hips, looking for some contact. Looking, longing for a body to collide with.

It was his body that she craved for; his. Only his. Still caressing her nipple, Wendy lowered her right hand – slowly. As much as frustration nourrished her lust and envy, she didn't wish to succumb to it right away. She wanted to remember the lingering tension hidden behind every caress, behind every gaze. She took her right hand with her left, pushing it down towards the core of her desire. As if she rehearsed the moment she would have to do the same with Hook. It slipped under the white cotton of her underwear, and made its way amidst a thick layer of soft dark curls. Without knowing it, her left hand came back up to her face, tracing the countour of her jaw with idle fingers. And, without knowing it, her thumb started to press against the corner of her mouth – that same corner that had her undone, a few days ago.

Increasingly, roughness joined the tips of her fingers, before taking control of her whole hand. Roughness surrounded her as her senses started to confuse; it was all flashes and peaks of pleasure in the midst of pure sensation. Roughness, in both her hands; one that clamped around her neck and that went up again to her mouth in an oblivious back-and-forth motion; another that followed the rhythm of her heartbeats to administrate the most delirious frictions around the erect bud that only she could please. And, among the blur of desire, only one thing was clear.

Clearly, his moans filled her mind; his harsh gasps of breath, his delicious sounds of pure lust – they mingled with hers. She opened her eyes as she reached the highest point of pleasure: his eyes were there. His body was atop of hers, covered in sweat in the dimmed light of her room. Unblinking, she came. The vision of him disappeared along with the echo of her silent scream of pleasure.

It took Wendy a long moment before she came back to her senses, not wanting to let go of the delirious pleasure that had made her so wonderfully powerless. And it took her another long moment before realizing that something had to give – soon. There was no use in fighting it. They were both halfway through – it would take nothing more than breaking off the feeble thread that held them appart to complete the journey together.

She turned her head to the cheap calendar pinned at her wall. Then, looking back up at the ceiling, she felt the corners of her mouth creep up in an abandonned smile.

She were to come back to university in two days. And only one thought seemed to be repeating itself in her mind.

 _Good_.


	7. Giving in

Wendy didn't feel any anxiety when she stepped over the classroom's threshold that morning.

Something was burning inside her, melting away all doubt. Something which set her whole body alight.

This determintation probably showed, she realized as she noticed the many stares and glances she earned from the boys she passed down the hallway. But her mind wasn't set onto any boys. Her mind was set onto one man only.

One specific man whom the very thought of was enough to make her grow tender and warm and made it hard for her to walk.

And it was pure delight.

Her beating heart, frantic, her determined steps and her slightly quivering legs – it all lead her, quietly, towards her aim. And, sure enough, once the classroom door was pushed – there he was.

James Hook stood behind his desk, waiting. And he took her sight in.

He had been waiting for her – ever since that moment. Oh, Hook certainly was a patient man. But there were things that even a man such as he could only repress for so long. It had been hard – waiting to see her again. But finally, there was his reward.

As she stepped in the classroom with that decided step, he realized that she had never looked so perfect.

She was gorgeous.

The early morning light shone ever so gracefully onto her delicate features; her cheek, slightly reddened by the cold and harsh autumn air, looked soft and tender, beckoning his fingers to rest against it. But what struck him most of all were her eyes; the way she looked at the scene, the way she looked at _him_ , as if she owned every particle of his being! And when confronted to such a look, one could hardly resist. And so, without offering much of a resistence – not as if he even wanted to – he yielded.

At this moment, he was hers. In truth, he had been hers hours ago, without even knowing it, when she had taken her decision at the bottom of her bed last night.

Their exchanged gaze – a recognition for that silent agreement passed between them – only lingered for a half a heartbeat. The deal was signed; the promise had been made, without so much as a single word exchanged between them.

And Wendy broke that moment of unspoken connexion, turning so slightly away from her spot to settle down her seat.

Wendy had never felt so relaxed for the next two hours.

/

"Ms. Darling? May I have a word, please?"

His tone was as controlled as ever, as if he had only been asking for her to turn in a long-overdue essay. She had expected it; and therefore, it was with no suprise that she mouthed to her friends that they ought not to wait for her. Some winked at her, as if they had sensed the ambiguity and expectation hidden underneath the thick layer of the very professional tone of their teacher. Ever so calmly, Wendy stepped towards Hook, who was straightening piles of paper before placing them slowly into different drawers. In truth, he was buying time; both of them knew it. Patiently, she and him waited for the last student to leave. And, in a matter of no time, they were alone.

When the click of the door softly closed behind someone sounded in the room, Hook looked up at her. This action was sudden, almost synchronized to perfection with the sound of the closing door – yet, she wasn't taken by suprise. She had, in fact, been waiting for it. Amongst other things.

However, in the floating second following that direct eye contact, she was seized by something she hadn't planned.

Doubt. Hesitation.

That was it. What came next?

And, silently – everything was silence, save from the astounding sound of her heartbeat –, Hook provided her with the answer.

He crossed the infinite space between them, reminding her in that moment of a feline about to pick a prey. She wanted to admire his panther-like grace forevermore. But, as he stood one inch from her – her body hummed with desire to be touched by him –, he murmured in her ear three sharp words.

"Close your eyes."

For a moment, Wendy stared at him, unsure of what he was about to do next. But the assurance in his eyes told her he wouldn't need to say those words twice. With fluttering eyelids, she closed her eyes.

All was black, but the noise around and inside her seemed to fill every single fiber of her being. She stood still, waiting.

And it happened.

She felt the soft yet decided contact of demanding fingers against her waist. It was nothing but his hand against her waist – yet, already she was panting and growing wet from sheer desire! And already, the touch of his lips reached the crook of her neck. She felt him more accurately than ever – breathing, hot and fast, against her chest. She wanted him – she had never wanted anything this painfully in her whole life. And still, she kept her eyes dutifully closed.

Hook, just as dutifully, started to plant kisses along her neck and jawline, retracing that interrupted and sacred moment, back in the plain obscurity of an ordinary kitchen. She hoped and prayed that nothing would stop him now – she wasn't sure she could actually bear it this time.

As if Hook had had the same thought, the pace of his kisses started to grow faster; from discovery and fascination, he moved to urgent and supreme desire. But still, he cherished every single contact he allowed himself to have with Wendy's beloved skin. Softly and urgently, he kissed his way up and up, finally reaching it – the corner of her lips. She stood – vibrant and demanding and expecting.

She drew in a sharp breath. And Hook, unexpectedly, took a step back – less than a inch, but enough for her to feel the cold air slithering into the space left between their bodies.

What happened – why did he break the moment. She needed to know.

So, softly, she opened her eyes. It took a second before Hook came into focus – the only other being in the empty space of the classroom.

He looked at her, still panting; something hidden in his blue eyes. Something she would never be able to decipher. He was waiting for something.

Confirmation.

In a silent exchange, she gave it to him – her agreement. Once again reassuring him in his actions – he was so decided and then, suddenly, so hesitant. He took in the sight of her, frail and yet so strong.

Hesitation, and then –

She couldn't tell who moved first. But, as sure as she had never felt so complete and so alive before, his lips were on hers. Her body responded faster than her mind.

And she kissed him back – avidly, violently. She could never let go. Instinctively, he locked his fingers between her strands, pulling her head a little higher. Their bodies intertwined as soon as he did, trying to make the distance between them disappear entierly.

Her hips moved forward as he began to ask for more – the tip of his tongue tasting, teasing her swollen lips. It sent a shot of electricity running along her back, a thousand times stronger than what she felt when his fingers first moved along her hands. Her eyes closed as she parted her lips; welcoming the embrace. Accepting what she couldn't avoid any longer.

Wendy couldn't help but moan, passive no longer. The sensation of his lips against hers, the irritation of his beard against her skin, and his hands, possessing her and claiming her all over her body – it drove her mad in an instant. She pressed herself against him, deepening that kiss – their teeth collided, their lips and tongues met restlessly, all in the extreme and confused expression of supreme desire.

They couldn't get enough; over and over again, they prolonged that kiss, that kiss so long denied.

Restrictions and abnegation vanished, never to be felt again.

She moaned with desperation when he broke the kiss – and, instantly, he sushed her. Seizing another rapid and out-of-breath kiss, he promised he was going to make up for leaving her lips cold – and bruised – without his. And, sure enough, she understood what kind of amends he would make for breaking that kiss. She wouldn't complain.

Softly, Hook lowered before her, and soon enough, he was on his knees, leaving Wendy at loss for words.

He looked up at her one last time, a gleam of pride and desire in his eyes, before allowing his fingers to trace their way up her inner thigh. When he placed a kiss on her leg as he lifted up her skirt, Wendy couldn't help but let a strange sound – half moan, half nervous laugh – escape from her throat. She felt him smile against her bare leg, before continuing his tantalizing ascention.

His fingers reached the edge of her knickers, and she was undone. She was going to have to hold onto something, or else – so she desperately seized both his shoulders, and braced herself, for the best was about to come.

Hook allowed her knickers to fall down slowly, and she discarded them with anxious hurry, feeling her teacher smiling against her leg once more. But soon, those smiling lips finally reached – it – that – oh – so precious place.

"Oh – my –" she panted, already hardly aware of where she was, of who she was, "– goodness! –"

The man beneath her was doing such a great job in giving her pleasure that she already felt dizzy and electric and etheral. Those kisses, where tongue and lips succeed each other at a perfect pace, left her undone, her fluttering eyelids making her loosing all focus.

Hook's grip tightened, and so did Wendy's. She was hardly in any position to remember where she was – she only knew that she could feel between her legs the heat of a man giving her tremendous pleasure. Pleasure grew fast – associated to months of denial and bulging desire, she was certain she would reach the peak of satisfaction in a matter of a few moments. She wasn't ashamed of this – actually, she didn't have any room left in her mind to feel such a thing as shame.

Sensing this, her teacher focused all his attention onto her erect bud. Then, without warning – he sucked in – only for a very brief second, but the suprise drew a sharp breath from Wendy. The sharp breath turned into a yelp of pleasure, tears forming as Hook allowed her no rest; only half a second later, he was lapping vigourously at the core of her pleasure. Now Wendy's yelps turned into mindless repetitions of gasps and words of lust. Still, Hook's grip became firmer than ever, and suddenly –

"Hook – I am – I –" The rest of her sentence disappeared into an high-pitched gasp of pleasure.

Clutching herself at Hook's shoulders, she came. There was no shame, no restriction; only the moans of a woman loosing herself into the depths of lust.

After the climax, Wendy was left panting, still clutched at her teacher's shoulders. As he slowly came back into focus, she could see him, looking up at her. The darkness of desire could be read in his eyes. He was panting as well, triumphant, as she had entirely given herself to him.

Moments later were blurred in the aftermath of pleasure. She could only make out his form, straightening up and leaving.

Without saying a single word.

Wendy was left leaning on his desk, statisfied beyond words. But his abupt departure already left her craving for more – as he had planned by leaving this fast, she knew it. But after having recieved so much pleasure, she could only give pleasure back.

After all, Wendy had always been considered extremely generous. She wasn't going to fail to her reputation just now.

* * *

 _ **Holy smokes. Did that just happen? Apparently so. About time!**_

 _ **Hopefully next chapter won't take as much time as this one to be posted. And hopefully we'll get a little more of that action between our forbidden lovers!**_

 _ **Thanks for the support, as always! -x**_


	8. Giving back

James Hook wished he could have stepped out of his home as if today were a normal day. But, truth be told – this day wasn't like any other day. Actually, something within him kept on telling him that he would not deserve things such as 'normal days' for a long time. And all of that because yesterday, everything had changed.

He had finally possessed Wendy, raw and whole – if only for a short moment. He had kneeled between her quivering legs, and right there, had tasted heaven.

Just the very thought of it awoke his desire, yet again. Several times this morning, he had to touch himself to get rid of the stiffness that came along each time the image of Wendy, hair undone and face flushed with pleasure, flashed through his mind. Trying to redirect his thoughts towards something plain to calm down – he was late enough as it was already – he stepped into his car and started the engine, quickly, before new recollections of Wendy's moans could fill his mind once more.

Yesterday, he had chosen to walk away, in an attempt to control himself – for if he had remained there a moment longer, he would have ravished her on his desk, no doubt. But that was too risky – even for him. Instead, he had released himself in his own home, not without some disappointment.

But this solitary activity was merely temporary – and the tought of it helped him cope with the burning desire which still burned through him. He had had trouble finding sleep last night, feeling too eager to see Wendy in the morning, and had to take sleeping pills before finally drifting off in the small hours of the morning.

As he parked in the University's parking lot, he was feeling frantic – but careful of not letting an inch of this feeling show. Always keeping the mask of professionality was primordial – although highly hypocrytical.

He walked into class, which was already mostly full – with all the setbacks of the morning, he had been close to fifteen minutes late, and the students were already sitting there, waiting. Most had been waiting for him to arrive and for the class to start, while others let their disappointment show as he stepped into class. Typical. Except – he immediately noticed – the class was only _mostly_ full. Mostly, because the most important student to his eyes was missing. The one who had almost deprived him of sleep last night – albeit not in the way he would have wished it.

Discretly, he looked for her in each seat, before reluctantly coming to the conclusion that Wendy was, indeed – absent. Missing. Deliberatly avoiding him.

Did she feel ashamed by what they had done yesterday? He had left quickly after – _it;_ did she take it as a sign he did not want to see her anymore? He had been a fool – but how was he expected to act otherwise?

A pang of disappointment hit him in the chest while wondering about what he _should_ have done instead, about what he _had_ done – but he did his best not to let his disarray show. Instead, he apologized for his late arrival, ever the perfect gentleman, and carried on with yesterday's lesson. But always his thoughts came back to Wendy. Never had he been so bored by his own class before.

After some two long hours of his monologuing about long dead authors, he dismissed his class as usual; as usual, he chose to remain in class a while longer to try and get some work done. But unusually, he couldn't focus; not even a bit. How could he, when a few steps away from where he was sitting, he could see the exact spot where he had been bringing Wendy Darling to the edge?

He remained there, staring blankly into the empty spot, his thoughts miles away from trivial things such as grades and poetry. He remained there, lost in time, time wasted doing nothing – until anger against himself overcome him. He stood up sharply, almost causing his chair to topple over with the abruptness of his motion.

He needed to move, to leave the room; so he gained the teacher's building, and opened the door to his teacher's office with a sigh. He would collect some papers, he decided, and he would drive home as fast as he could to get a hold on some glasses – or a bottle – of whisky.

But since today simply had to be unusual through and through, he hadn't registred as he placed his hand on the handle that the door hadn't been locked. So, when he stepped in, he hadn't expected either to be met with the delightful vision of Wendy – _his_ Wendy – standing next to his desk, the shutters drawn behind her. For half a second, Hook believed she was but a vision, so much had he wanted to see her today. But she was real; the electric lights of the office shone dimly on her soft cheek, and how he wanted to carress that perfect skin, and to come closer, much closer, to that image of perfection.

A devilish smile was tugging at her lips, and Hook could only stand there, transfixed, before finally closing the door behind him – and locking it.

As the clicking sound of the lock resonated in the small room, both felt the tension contained between the two of them immediately intensify. He finally spoke.

"How did you get in?" A sheepish way to start a conversation, but a legitimate question nevertheless. She licked her dry lips before answering – taking her time. Like she had all the time in the world.

"Just said to a janitor that I had been sent to your office to collect some papers. He opened the door right away." She locked eyes with him for a second, as if she hesitated to add something, anything, to break some of that tension in which one could cut through with a knife. Instead, she seemed to change her mind, and quieted herself by biting her lips gently. Hook almost moaned with longing.

There was almost no need to speak much more. So slowly, he approached. Wendy stood her ground, firmly, defiance in her eyes – but also, something else.

Hook finally arrived close to her, close enough to feel her soft breath against him. He seemed unsure about what to do next – he had been so sure yesterday, and now he seemed almost afraid to touch her, as if she would vanish in the haze if he did. So she raised both of her hands to his chest, drawing a soft hissing sound from him – an intake of breath. She was in control this time; but still, Hook couldn't help but notice from the state of her hands that she was slightly shaking. And he desired her all the more for it – this complex mix between courage and hesitation.

Slowly, she dragged one hand up and slid it gently to the back of his neck as he remained immobile. She allowed her fingers to get caught in between the dark strands of his hair. And there, her lashes casting long shadows on her delicate cheeks, she kissed him.

It was so soft at first: he stood still, welcoming her lips onto his with relief, with complete abandon. But soon enough, her lips opened – and so did his, in a perfect dance of symmetry. And inexorably, the kiss grew fiercer; Wendy's grip on the back of his neck getting harder and harder. Hook couldn't help but wrap his arm around her and draw her closer, causing Wendy to grind her hips against him in one slow and driven movement. Hook's reaction was a hard one that she could feel against her own legs.

Her shyness drifting away, Wendy drew back, breaking the kiss – and Hook allowed it, knowing something else would come. Indeed, after tracing two kisses against the hollow of his neck, she slowly slid down, her shadow following her, a dark and blurry shape against the broken neon light.

Her fingers were slightly shaking still when she started to undo the top of his trousers. Hook's own hand found the corner of his desk and helped him remain still, just as he felt himself breathing faster. And in a matter of seconds, Wendy's hand was around him. He stifled a moan with difficulty, but Wendy wasn't going to make it any easier for him.

She placed her lips on him, right at the top of his shaft – as if gently laying a kiss there. But next thing Hook knew, she had parted her lips and was dragging her tongue along his length, slowly enough to push him towards the edge with each passing moment. As she had reached the top, her tongue wrapped against him once again, more ravenously this time, as if she were licking the most delicious lollipop in the world. Hook bit into his fist to stop himself from crying out loud. But then she sucked on his smooth, warm skin, and he couldn't help but let out a loud hiss, his hand gripping hard at her undone hair.

As if encouraged, she carried on, her fingers now dancing up and down, gripping and squeezing harder and harder, softness be damned. From the sounds coming from her teacher's throat, Wendy could only guess with a smile that she was doing a rather decent job.

"Keep on, keep on, Wendy, my -" Hook panted, before being instantly silenced by Wendy who sucked in harder. With a sharp intake of breath, he gripped harder at her hair, in a way that almost hurt; so she grazed her teeth along him, only once, for good measure.

By his vibrating pulse, Wendy felt he was getting closer to his release. She was working him up in an almost driven efficiency now; and soon after she felt him push her head back as he layed his hand on hers, accompanying her movement. As she raised her eyes up to him, she felt him spending himself on her with a moan, staining her neck, her collar, her shirt.

For a while there was nothing for them to do but stand still, each coming slowly to their senses.

It was Wendy who moved first, standing up to rummage her way to a plain t-shirt disposed in her bag. She changed swiftly out of her ruined shirt, and silently made her way to the door. Unlocking it softly, she casted a quick glance at her teacher, still left panting by the desk.

"I guess we're even, now."

And a second later, she exited swiftly, not leaving a shadow of her trace behind.

* * *

 **Guess who's back due to a ~somewhat~ popular demand? Yeah, I have a hard time believing it myself.**

 **A million apologies to everybody! I have no excuses, except I just, sort of fell out of writing. Besides, this chapter was somewhat of a challenge for me... So I hope this update isn't too much of a let-down. The next one is already half-written out, and I actually cannot wait to share it with you all!**

 **So thanks for everybody who commented ever since the unofficial hiatus started. Settle back down, get your seatbelts on: we're off to a wild ride once again!**


	9. Connection

The anonymous call incoming from Wendy's phone could only mean one thing.

Sitting at her desk, she watched her phone vibrate for a while, her hands folded under her chin. She considered the object, lost in thought. She felt odly calm. Then, as the ringing menaced to die out, she reached for it, almost mindlessly, and picked up, but remained silent.

At the other end of the line, James Hook waited as well; patiently, taking his time and weighing out his words. Finally, he spoke first.

"I was beginning to fear that you would never answer."

"I didn't mean to at first", Wendy answered in complete honesty. "But then I realized that wouldn't stop you." She paused. "Was I wrong?"

Hook chuckled slighlty on his end of the line. "I ought to feel slightly worried that you should know me so well."

Wendy didn't comment on this remark. Instead, she said nothing, waiting for him to go to the point of his calling her. Her throat was dry, but she was calm still, so calm.

Hook picked up this silent cue, licking his lips slighly before continuing. She could almost picture him doing so, sitting in front of his own desk, or maybe in his most comfortable chair. She had never seen the inside of his house, ever. And now she felt the need to know what it looked like, just so that she could picture him in detail at this very instant. A voice on the phone could only go so far.

"I think we need to talk, dear."

She laughed silently at this. What an understatement! Heavens, did they need to talk. So many things needed to be sorted out.

But at this moment, she didn't feel like doing the talking. So she only launched a few invitations for him to carry on.

"Yes, we do."

She heard him sigh. She was not making it easy for him, and she knew it. And she didn't feel apologetic about it in the least.

"I'm afraid we need to set boudaries, Wendy. We acted somewhat... recklessly. We might have burned some bridges on our way."

Now Wendy laughed out loud. This whole situation was ludicrous! They knew perfectly well where they were headed to from the very moment she allowed him to lay his hands on her.

The mere thought of his hands on her brought back some vivid memories. They had gone too far already, but she still craved for more. So what was even the point of pretending?

"Hell, Hook. What _kind_ of boudaries do you even want to set? I'm afraid we've estabished we've passed the point of no return back when you knelt before back in the classroom. Also, I really hope you've taken lengths to insure our conversation is _not_ being recorded right now."

"Well, since you feel the need to bring this up, I must assure you that what I meant by boundaries was exactly this – us taking precautions." He paused for a while, before adding in a lower tone: "Let me assure you that I, by no means wish to interrupt this – thing we're having. The mere promise of what we still have to _do_ to each other is too great for me to wish to stop."

Now Wendy's bravado was cut short, her breath caught in her throat while she felt herself growing instantly wetter at the suggestion. Aware of the effect his little speech just had on her, Hook continued; she could almost see him smile as he spoke.

"Of course, if we have the need to contact each other, we must do so discreetly. I did take some precautions while calling you – a good thing your University file is so easy to find on the school's online system."

"Now, that could be considered a violation of privacy, sir," Wendy interrupted. "You could get into big trouble for that."

"True, but not as big as being caught doing – whatever I feel like doing to you, my dear. Or you doing the same to me, for that matter." Wendy felt herself growing redder and redder at this remark – and she was not one for blushing. Hook continued, his tone smoother than ever.

"And unless you have any objections, I would very much like to see you again. But – in _safer_ conditions, let us say."

Wendy did her best to keep her anxious gulping inaudible. Now he _really_ went to the point.

"What do you suggest?"

Hook smiled once again, the crooked smile of a man who knew he had obtained what he wanted, no doubt. "Find me this evening. My place."

Wendy took a quick look at the time: 6:02 pm. Even if she had had an assignment due for the next day, she would still have gone at the least indication he wanted to see her; and damned be her Grade-A expectations.

What was she left to do but to accept? They had, as he pointed out, a great deal of things to do to each other. One could only go for secret encounters in small, semi-public spaces for so long.

When she put down her phone, she remained immobile for a while. They still had to work out a lot of things. But how could they possibly discuss any of this while they were both still rendered incapacitated by their seemingly infinite desire for each other?

She only threw on a light jacket and jumped straight to her car. There would be no use for lipstick tonight.

/

When James Hook heard the knocking on the door, he had to fight to keep his composure. There was no need to act with haste – for the first time since they approached each other again, they had all night before them, and then some.

Still, in less than a few seconds after she had knocked, the front door was opened and Wendy was hurried inside.

She kept still in front of him, staring at him with a hint of defiance in her perfect brown eyes.

He raised his hands and slid them underneath her jacket, softly. Then, just as carefully, he pushed the fabric down, until it slipped from her shoulders and arms, landing in a ruffle on the floor. All the while, he seemed entranced by her presence here, a promise – and deep down, he knew he was entirely devoted to her.

She was there – she had rendered whatever was about to happen next possible. If he had been proud and sensual on the phone earlier, he felt as helpless as a child before the pure look she gave him now.

So the only thing he could do was to bend down and softly kiss her.

And sure enough, Wendy kissed him back, in a perfect combination of acceptation and desire.

She would gladly have allowed him to take her entierly, right there, in his hallway; yet, Hook found the will in him to break the embrace and lead her to a sofa. Always the gentleman, she thought smiling. He layed her down, almost in a gentle fashion, then reprised the kiss which he had to interrupt a minute before.

Her arms around his neck, his body warm atop of hers, and their lips intertwined – it all felt unreal. But most of all, if felt so _right_ – despite everything.

Hook, kissing her. Her childhood enemy had surrendered: once fuelled by mutual hatred, their two bodies were suddenly willing to push those memories away. Or it was, perhaps, the only reasonnable solution to hatred. That mutual joining into a tight embrace. So she wrapped her arms around him, bringing him closer, always closer.

And suddenly, it was too much.

Once more, she brought her hands to his collar, to his buttons. He interrupted the kiss for a short moment, gazing at her with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Well, aren't you eager, my dear Darling..."

She replied by wrapping her leg around him and brushing closer against his groin.

"Don't act like you're so surprised – or like this displeases you", she replied mischievously. Hook chuckled.

"I would be a fool, as well as a liar, if I didn't." She smiled once more and felt like kissing him once again; and sure enough, he didn't protest while she did.

His hips were moving against her now; in a slow, sensous rhythm overtaking him. She felt herself growing dizzier and dizzier at the sensation, now loosing herself entierly in the kiss, her lashes brushing against his skin. Not thinking about the consequences. After a while, she even forgot who she even was; all she was, at the moment, was pure rapture.

They had both gone too far to stop now.

She felt his hands work at her blouse, tugging it and removing it, throwing it far away from her. He paused only to stare at her, undone, contemplating her soft breasts rising and falling in an erratic rhythm.

As if hungered by the sight, he worked more dilligently now; in an expert manner, he undid the clasp of her bra, which soon enough rejoined her rumpled blouse at the other end of the room. He fought the urge to get lost in the kisses he laid onto her perfect, erect and red nipples – kisses which she seemed to greatly appreciate, given the moans she emitted then – and slid her jeans down her legs, leaving her completely bare before him.

He contemplated her. His Wendy – finally, his and his alone. She felt the weight of his gaze upon her, and was not ashamed. She drank his appreciation in like a nectar.

But as he started to slid he hand along her naked thigh, his pupils dark with desire, she pushed his hand away, tutting him.

"It's not fair I should be the only one in such a vulnerable state here, woudn't you say?"

Hook smiled, understanding right away. He raised his hand to undo his shirt, but she stopped him, laying her hand on his softly. The contact of their hands still thrilled her. "Let me do the honors," she whispered. Hook gave in, and felt her delicate hands work down, and down, finally reaching the top of his pants – and not stopping.

She then slid down the shirt from his shoulders, the same way he did for her jacket in the hallway; when it reached down to his pants, Hook lended her a hand, and sooner than either could realize, he stood naked before her, having discarded the unwanted layer of clothes far away from them, where they were not needed.

They remained immobile for a while, their legs intertwined. Hook stood erect in front of her, and she could only crave for more as she looked at him. He was all she had ever wanted.

She looked at him – her teacher, whom she had qualified as her enemy, an eternity ago. It had all come down to this – this moment of perfect intimacy. The promise of their conjoint pleasure; the thrill of discovering the other, underneath their shared history, underneath the labels – teacher, student, neighbour, enemy. It all fell down to one single definition, now; one which, after all, made so much more sense.

Lovers.

Softly, Hook took her hands and raised them atop her head, before pushing her back down on the sofa. And as he worked his way up from her breasts to her neck, she couldn't help but whimper and slither underneath him, her wrists tied together by the firm pressure of his hand upon them. Possessive, yet ever delicate, gentle-mannered. Each of his kisses were declarations of worship on the body he had desired so vividly, for so long.

She carressed his manhood by raising her hips against him, again and again, in a delirious fashion, moaning against his devouring kisses; yet, it seemed he was determined to tease her by denying the connexion which she was dying for. She couldn't take it forever; she, too, had waited for so long.

"Please – please," She begged; gods, she never thought she would ever have to beg. He maddened her terribly. "I want you – I want you now, please..."

She felt him smile against her own lips; a wicked smile she came to love and loathe at the same time. But she hadn't expressed her desire in vain: instantly, she felt the tip of his cock caressing her entrance. For a second, he lowered his second hand, and his fingers moved, in a flicker, over her clit; brushing it teasingly. She thrust her hips forward in an immediate response, craving him inside her more than ever. As if to silence her moans, which made him more rapt with desire than ever, he pulled her head down and planted a violent kiss onto her lips. She withered against him, rendered almost delirious by her desire, by his body against her, by him, only _him_ – and at the same time felt him finally entering her, filling her entirely. She moaned, in complete bliss.

"Christ! You feel so perfect..." She breathed in, carefully drowning in extasy as she felt him, whole, against her. "Oh, Wendy..." Was all he could sigh against her ear, his voice heavy. The sigh caused a hot wave of indescribable pleasure to hit Wendy in the chest. But then Hook began to nimble at her earlobe, sending hot waves of pleasure running through her body.

She couldn't say anything but moan along with him, holding his head against her neck, fingers tangled between strands of dark hair, as he started to kiss and suck at her tender skin. She clenched around his length, delighting in the sensation of having him inside her – inviting him further down their forbidden passion. But she needed more.

"You need to move... Move, James, please..."

The sensuality of her whisper almost caused Hook to moan; and, in truth, he could only oblige but to do what she told him to. He was besides himself. Grabbing her legs with fervor, he angled her against him before pushing her deeper into the sofa. Wendy couldn't repress a loud moan as he pressed further into her – to which he responded by placing one last hot kiss at the nape of her neck.

She was seeing stars already. And then he moved; thrusting into her once, hard. She cried out loud, all shame forgotten.

Gods, it felt like heaven.

He pulled back, if only for a inch, before thrusting once more, his hips digging further against her bare flesh. This time, she couldn't master her emotions any longer and found herself crying his name out loud, over and over again. Soon enough, he did the same, repeating her name in whisper, without seeming aware that he did, in a way that seemed to accompany each thrust.

She was there, against him, quivering with the pleasure he gave her. Her body responded naturally to his ministrations – her eyes were half-closed, and her mind was far beyond her body. But more than that, she was aware that he was – if nothing, a perfect lover. A tough lover, knowing precisely how she wanted it – and, from him, for their first union, she wanted it hard.

Unable to contain herself, she raised her hips to meet him, earning a moan from him as she continued to grind against his body. In a response to his moans came a muffled cry, escaping from her flushed lips.

"Oh, James, don't stop – yes -" Raising his hips in order to graze her clit, he thrusted into her once more. And with that, she was undone. "Yes! Right there – oh gods yes, James!"

He was thrusting ever more violently, and was getting closer to his own release. But she needed to come first. That girl had waited for him for so long. He went back to her earlobe, draining more muffled cries of pleasure from her, electric thrills running along her body; she was withering against him frantically, but still crying out his name, her eyes lost in a haze.

She felt him lower his hand to reach her – and his fingers found their way to her erect bud. She gasped, realizing she had craved their return there. His expert manners knew just how to toy with her clit, never rubbing too harshly nor forgetting to tease it perfectly.

Wendy grew impatient, almost maddened with desire; she quivered uncontrolably under him, drawing all the pleasure she could from his ministrations.

Then, with a final flick from his dexterous fingers, she felt him more accurately than ever – strong waves of pleasure rushed through her. And Wendy knew she couldn't hold it any longer.

"James – I am – I'm -" Her head thrown back, she screamed as she felt her walls clenching around him with force. She climaxed more violently than she ever did before.

"James!" She cried loudly, the force of her climax almost too much to take. Another thrust. "James -" A muffed cry died in her throat.

The way she said his name finally allowed him to follow her. He pumped into her with passion, kissing her madly before his release. "Gods! Wendy – my darling,..." He couldn't finish his sentence; already, hot spurs were pouring from him. Three times it shot into her.

He collapsed on her shoulder, feeling her erratic breasts mounting and descending against his chest.

Neither truly remembered much the details of what happened afterwards; only that they found themselves profoundly asleep, limbs still tangled on the warm and soft velvet cushions of the sofa.


End file.
